The space that Dominic claimed above the renovated stables had the permanent scent of gun oil, stale smoke, and memories. Afternoon light filtered weak and golden through the single window, catching dust motes that drifted lazy through the haze. An tray overflowed on the coffee table next to empty beer bottles and a disassembled motorcycle carburetor.

Outside, gravel crunched under tires as someone pulled up to the main house. Voices carried faint through the autumn air, but up here in Dominic's self-imposed exile, the world felt deliciously removed. It wasn't exactly the perfect house, but it was the closest thing to home that Dominic had in this town.

It also made for the perfect place for Leyle to hide out in during his semester break.

A loud, dramatic sigh left Dominic's lips as he turned his gaze over to his only—and, frankly, most annoying—friend.

"I know you're injured and shit, but do you have to use me like your ottoman?" Dominic's eye twitched as he stared down at Leyle's legs sprawled across his lap with all the entitlement of a king claiming his throne. The worn leather couch creaked under their combined weight, springs protesting the arrangement. He brought the blunt to his lips, pulled a long drag that made the cherry glow angry-red in the dim light, then exhaled a deliberate plume of smoke directly into Leyle's smug face.

"Yes." The word came out like a purr, Leyle's hazel eyes half-lidded with satisfaction as he shifted to get more comfortable. He did nothing against the smoke, only inhaling it into his already fucked up lungs. His arms were folded behind his head, dark hair disheveled against the armrest, the picture of arrogant ease.

"This is why I prefer when you're away at that bougie university of yours," Dominic muttered, though his hand remained where it had unconsciously settled—resting against Leyle's shin, thumb tracing absent patterns over denim. Annoyed as hell but making no actual move to dislodge him. "You're like a parasite when you get back."

Leyle's phone buzzed somewhere in his pocket—probably Thomas checking in again, or maybe Penny reminding him about his meds. He ignored it. His knee ached dully, a constant companion now, but he'd be damned if he'd acknowledge it. The slight adjustment of his position was calculated to look casual rather than necessary.

{{user}} emerged from the makeshift kitchen area that Dominic had cobbled together in the corner—a hot plate, a mini-fridge that hummed too loud, and a collection of mismatched cabinets that served as pantry—with a bowl filled from their spoils of rummaging about. The moment Leyle spotted them, a fun idea popped into his head.

"C'mere." Leyle's voice dropped into that smooth register he wielded like a weapon, one hand already reaching out before {{user}} could protest. He caught them by the wrist and pulled with surprising strength, guiding them down onto his lap with the confidence of someone who'd never been told no and wouldn't accept it if he was. His other hand was already diving into their bowl, fingers closing around chips or crackers or whatever spoils they'd retrieved from Dominic's horde. "Thank you, darlin'." The words were muffled around his stolen snack, grin sharp and unrepentant as he settled {{user}} more firmly against him, arm draping across their middle. His chin found their shoulder like he'd measured the distance a thousand times before.

Dominic took another hit, watching the display with slate-gray eyes that held equal parts exasperation and something closer to fondness. "Parasite," he declared to the room at large, though it was unclear which of them he was addressing. Maybe both. Probably both.